


A Mother's Legacy

by MissIves



Series: Unnamed Series [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, just domestic stuff but also arya being awesome?, papa gendry and mama arya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIves/pseuds/MissIves
Summary: Gendry goes to visit his wife when he realises his kids are missing her.





	A Mother's Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my previous one-shot "A Husband's Duty". It's not necessary to read that one to understand this, though I would love it if that one got a little love and I def think this story works better if you see how Arya and Gendry function as a couple in that fic.
> 
> I have a whole universe thought out in the context on this fic, and I apologize if some details are unclear; in my mind they may read better than they actually do in execution. But hey think about it, it just means I have so much to tell about these two in this storyline I've thought of!
> 
> Apologies in advance for any typos or mistakes, English is not my first language and I have no beta reader.

“Father, _please._ ” The boy covered his ears with his tiny hands as he pleaded over his sister's cries. “Just tell the maid to keep her in her room.”

 

“No, Brandon. You think you were any better at her age?” Gendry asked as the little girl fidgeted in his lap. She cried and moved and cried and refused food. “How long until Jon gets here?”

 

Brandon did little to hide the irritation in his voice. “It's not Jon she wants.”

 

 _That is true._ An important member of the family was missing. Gendry knew it, the boys knew it and if course, Argella knew it too.

 

“Here, princess, eat some eggs.” Gendry offered her a spoonful of eggs but Ella's hand shot up to push it away, the spoon and its contents falling from Gendry's hands straight to the floor. He opened his mouth to reproach her but was beaten to it by a bright and energetic Jon.

 

“Ella! What is that?!”

 

To her credit, Ella stayed still and looked at Jon with her tear-filled eyes showing regret for a moment. When he was closer however, she showed a big grin and lifted her arms. “Jon!” she exclaimed with glee.

 

Gendry happily passed her to an optimistic Jon, knowing how this went. Argella was far too smart already, and she knew how to play them like a fiddle. She too had been all happy smiles as he went to her in the morning, but eventually she revealed just how tired she was of having only her father. It'd be the same for Jon, no matter what it seemed as she happily cuddled in his arms as he sat in front of his meal.

 

“What did mother say about misbehaving?” Jon asked as he forced some eggs on her. Ella chewed eagerly before focusing her deep dark grey eyes on Jon. Her brother pointed to the food on the floor. “That is not fair on the maids, if you keep doing that mother will have you scrubbing the floor to learn a lesson.”

 

“He’s right.” Brandon spoke as he chew, nodding seriously at Ella.

 

“Where mother?” she asked serious.

 

“She'll be home soon, little sister.” Jon said softly, earning a glare from Ella. She did not resume her crying and fidgeting but she did cross her arms and refused any more food.

 

“At least you got her to stop crying.” Brandon said, reaching forward to teasingly tug at Ella's cheek.

 

Gendry smiled and messed up Brandon's hair. “Finish your food.”

 

The boys ate contently and in silence as Gendry watched Ella sat still in Jon's lap, her feet dangling a _little_ too forcefully to show her displeasure — Jon beared it in silence — as she kept staring at the empty space where Arya usually sat.

 

“Father, do you have to do much today?” Jon asked as he let Ella play with the remains of his food, handkerchief at the ready in case she decided to drag her dirty hands through his clothes.

 

“The first part of the day is always busy, Jon,you know that.” Gendry saw the boys exchange a look and immediately became suspicious. “What are you two plotting?”

 

“We just wanted to see if you could show us how to smith again, that's all.” Brandon lied easily with innocent blue eyes showing no second intentions. The boy was Arya all over again, and it made Gendry cringe just how good he was at hiding whatever he wanted to keep hidden. Gendry would've fallen for it easily if it weren't for one mistake.

 

There was no way in this life or any other that _Jon_ wanted to visit the smithy again. Gendry remembered the first time they had seen the fire and melting metal, and Tommy, their smith, hammering like Gendry used to.

 

“I love it.” Brandon had said, his blue eyes shining with delight, hands trying to reach some of the tools.

 

“I _hate_ it.” Jon had sneered as he cleaned the sweat off his forehead.

 

Arya had grinned proudly when Jon had said he prefered to spend his time learning how to ride a horse like his mother. Gendry didn't mind much. Smithing was not for everyone, but Brandon liked to smash things so he might as well teach the boy some discipline with a hammer.

 

“Is that so? Jon? You want to learn how to wield a hammer?” Gendry leaned to his son to see him try and fail to keep his expression of distaste hidden.

 

“Yes, father.”

 

“I see, what about you, princess?” Gendry leaned to an increasingly more fidgeting Ella, who shook her head and clinged to Jon more tightly. They boys laughed as Gendry gave them a nod. “What is this about?”

 

Brandon stayed quiet and exchanged a look with Jon, clearly not knowing whether to speak out or not. Gendry threw Jon a pointed look and finally the boy exhaled and threw his head back.

 

“Fine… we wanted to… go to your room and…” Jon trailed off and bit his lip, and the sight of it reminded Gendry so much of Arya that he couldn't help to smile and fail to look stern.

 

“And?”

 

“And find mother's swords…”

 

“And your warhammer!” Brandon interjected, his blue eyes grinning with delight.

 

Gendry couldn't help but shake his head and smile. Although Arya and him were not great storytellers, that did not meant Jon and Brandon had not grown up with certain tales of the war. And of course, Arya was far too notorious for them not to be curious.

 

“Just because we don't want you playing with steel doesn't mean we won't _show_ you our weapons if you ask for them.”

 

The boys smiled with delight and rose quickly, Jon setting down Ella on the floor and getting her to walk by holding his hand. They were a sweet pair those two. Sansa did not visit them very often, but when she did, she often cooed to Arya that they were just like Robb and herself. Arya would often turn to him, rolling her eyes and telling him that they were just like _Jon and herself, Seven Hells_. Gendry smiled, though in truth he wouldn't know, he never had any siblings, not ones he knew anyways. Arya was the first person to ever be his family, and they were certainly nothing like siblings.

 

 _I wish she was here_. She had been in Winterfell a week, and they had been separated for longer periods, but she had not had reason to travel for half a year and Gendry had gotten used to her presence. Their home was not a full home without her.

 

They arrived to their solar, the spacious room being perhaps the most used by Gendry and Arya. It was richly illuminated, and it was there that Arya often did their numbers and business, while Gendry perpetually tried to learn more about the sea coal and iron they mined and the pines they grew. Whenever the children were babes, Arya usually kept them near in a crib in the corner, and when they were older but it was too cold to go outside, Gendry and Arya usually let them play or read near the hearth of the room.

 

Brandon walked excitedly to the wall in the back, there, displayed and kept out of reach, were Gendry's warhammer and Arya's swords. Gendry easily took his hammer and knelt, propped it on the floor next Brandon. The boy took the handle with both his hands, his face taking a painful expression and he tried and failed to lift it.

 

“Careful,” Gendry chuckled, “you're not big enough yet to be able to lift it. Just keep it there on the floor, and keep yourself out of the reach of the spike.”

 

“Yes, father.” Brandon said, unusually obliging, his icy eyes scanning the shiny steel of the massive hammer.

 

Gendry rose and eyed Jon. The boy was looking at Arya's swords with awe.

 

“Which one?”

 

“Dark Sister.” Jon answered firmly. _Of course he wants the bigger one,_ Gendry thought.

 

Arya's legendary Valyrian steel sword, the one with which she fought the last battles for the Iron Throne and against the Others, was a thing of beauty. Her Needle hung next to it, small and pretty as its owner, both swords gifts from her brothers. Nowadays, she was hardly armed with more than a dagger or some knife, but if travelling she'd use the sword Gendry had forged for her, simpler but made specifically for her size.

 

Gendry took Arya's Dark Sister with care, pulling it out of the scabbard as Jon asked Ella to step back. He offered it hilt first to Jon, keeping the tip of the blade on his forearm in case he could not wield it. Jon took it with confident fingers, both his little hands holding firmly and lifting the blade barely a little.Thought it was only a moment, it made Gendry shiver to see him such, small but proudly lifting the slender blade.

 

 _Gods he is so much like Arya._ Jon had that Stark look that belonged to his mother and namesake, and much of that noble easy going temperament. Brandon was much more mercurial, and could probably easily capture the attention and friendship of a room full of wildlings.

 

“Is it true you made this one, father?” Brandon asked, holding the hammer as far from himself as he could and twisting it on the floor to see it from all angles.

 

“Yes, I made it in Winterfell's forge, started working on it as soon as I arrived and finished it in a fortnight.” Gendry had been a good blacksmith apprentice, and the war made of him an expert armourer and bladesmith. Still sometimes he would receive request of making pieces for a price. Sometimes he’d accept it, so he wouldn’t lose his touch.

 

“You will teach me? Right?” Brandon asked excitedly, but Gendry hoped his son _never_ had to endure the long work he had to go through as he did in the war, forging and making and mending weapons and fighting, fighting, so much fighting.

 

Jon was silent and solemn, eyeing Dark Sister's rippled steel, the dark grey and red tones shining bright. It was a magnificent blade. It had the elegance of the female Targaryens, and Arya admitted to him once that, in a fleeting moment of vanity, she had stared at herself holding the blade in a looking mirror a little too long. Gendry could not blame her. He had seen her fighting and wielding different swords, but Dark Sister seemed to fit her when she stood with Nymeria ready to battle the dead. They had written songs about her, his wife some sort of warrior witch who commanded an army of wolves.

 

If only the singers could see old Nymeria still trailing behind his wife, slower but still strong. Still only listening to its mistress, sniffling anyone who wasn’t family and stood too close. She liked Gendry though, always had, and sometimes in it was af if she knew he came from the south and his feet got cold, because she’s lay one his feet to keep him warm. Her pack  lived all across the North now, and her litters had grown and had litters of their own.

 

“Your uncle Bran gave it to your mother,” Gendry started, eyeing the magnificent steel, “she had more or less outgrown Needle a bit, and Bran had taken it with him from beyond the Wall but had no use for it. The war was here, and your mother is an excellent swordfighter. Valyrian steel could kill the Others and it seemed only fitting for her to use it.”

 

“I had only ever seen mother use dull swords, for practice.”

 

_And I hope you must never see her armed for war._

 

“Perhaps one of these days you can ask her to teach you to use Needle. It requires a braavosi style, but she can teach you, I'm sure she will love it.” Jon smiled at that, and Gendry finally let the edge of the blade go. Immediately it dropped, but the boy let it hang down so they could examine it closer. “You can see the ripples where the steel was folded, see here?”

 

“Why didn't mother take it with her to Winterfell?” Jon asked, earning a queer look from his father. The boy looked ashamed as he spoke next. “I heard you two talking, she said she was to help uncle Bran with a trial, and if the men was found guilty, she would have to behead him.”

 

Gendry nodded, and held back in admonishing him from listening to other people conversations.

 

“It's true, your mother may have to enforce justice on the man,” just yesterday, a raven had come with news of Winterfell, Arya telling them she'd not be long now, for she was sure they would not be much more deliberation on the man's fate. Gendry could feel her anxiousness to return in the letter. “But when she must do it, she uses Ice.”

 

“Grandfather's great sword.” Brandon said with a smile. The boy loved to hear Arya talk of his grandfather.

 

“What's left of it. When your mother was little, there was once a great sword called Ice, belonging to her father. After the War of the Five Kings it was taken by the Lannisters and reforged into two: Widow's Wail and Oathkeeper. Remember Oathkeeper?” Gendry asked Jon. “You saw it when you were five, I'm not sure you'd remember Brandon. We had travelled to Harrenhal for a tourney in celebration of Queen Daenerys birthday and lady Brienne was there.”

 

“Why does she have it if it belonged to our house?” Jon asked.

 

“During the war we need more swords rather than one, and Brienne used it with skill. After the war your aunt insisted Brienne keep it since she had done house Stark a great service, and by then Widow”s Wail had been returned to house Stark, and I had remolded it's pommel and had been renamed Ice.” Gendry shrugged. “No one seemed to think necessary to remade the ancestral Ice when we needed more Valyrian steel, and the Starks are not vain enough to want it remade just because, since they now had a new Ice and your mother had Dark Sister.”

 

“Dark Sister belonged to House Targaryen.” Brandon said as if he was repeating a lesson.

 

“That's right. But it was found by your uncle Brandon beyond the Wall, and he gave it to your mother. Neither Queen Daenerys or uncle Jon never had any wishes to reclaim it.” Gendry often wondered how that conversation had gone. He was pretty sure Daenerys would want it, having little relics of her ancestral family. But surely Jon had noticed Arya's attachment to it and had convinced his queen. Gendry wasn't sure he would've allowed it to be given to anyone but Arya, whom Daenerys herself was fond of.

 

“It's so… pretty.” Jon admitted with a blush.

 

“Yes it is,” Gendry smiled, “it was made specifically for a woman, and I think the blacksmith designed it keeping in mind its owner.”

 

“Is it true there is another?” Brandon asked.

 

“Blackfyre, no one knows what happened to it. It was already a bit of a miracle that Dark Sister was found.” Gendry smiled at Brandon. “Once, I attempted to read the steps to forge Valyrian steel, you know?”

 

“Really father?”

 

“Oh yes, it gave your mother a good laugh. She taught me my letters the way the maester teaches you yours, and she laughed when the first book I searched for in the library was about forging.”

 

Hornwood had a large library, a gift Arya had received from maester Sam Tarly for saving him once in Braavos, and again much later in the war. With the years, Arya had indulged in books as well, enjoying having the children asking her to read to them to endure the boring cold day that kept them in the North.

 

“And could you do it?” Brandon inquired as he gave little jumps of excitement.

 

“No, it required some magical spells I could not do.”

 

“And mother couldn't do it?”

 

Gendry let out a long breath. “Brandon, we've talked about this. Your mother is _not_ a witch.”

 

“But she can see with animals! And _everyone_ says she's a witch.”

 

“Just because everyone says so, it is true?”

 

“But I asked uncle Bran and _he_ said skinchanging was a form of magic.” Jon intervened. It was no use, those two always found a way to defend each other. Arya and Gendry had learnt that to discipline them you had to separate them.

 

“This is the _last_ time I will say this,” Gendry exclaimed with impatience, “I will hear no more talk of your mother being a witch _or a sorcerer_ , yes Brandon they're the same thing,” he emphasized the last bit as his son opened his mouth, “understood?”

 

“Yes father.” Both said in unison, their attention returning to the weapons. Ella just stood still watching them and biting her thumb. Arya hated that fixation, but Gendry thought it made her look sweet.

 

“Uncle Jon let us hold Longclaw for mother's name day last year. Remember?” Brandon said excitedly. Gendry felt a tug at his heart. _Perhaps the kid won't be fond of hammers after all._

 

“I remember.”

 

Jon's devotion to his sister was of course extended to her children. If the kids asked for anything, he'd spoil them. Despite being King, Gendry had been surprised at how normal it felt sometimes to speak to his good brother. He had thanked Gendry profusely for giving Arya a family and building a happy home for her, but Gendry thought he had it backwards.

 

Little Ella had waddled over to him, clutching at his leg. When Gendry knelt next to her, he found her dark grey eyes sadly looking at him. He felt the room turn grim as they all turned to look at the sad girl, who kept her firm grip on her father as her little finger pointed to Arya’s chair in silent question.

 

“You miss your mother, don't you child?” Gendry asked softly as he carefully stroked her hair. Ella nodded softly.

 

“Father…” Jon began in a whisper as Brandon tried to make his little sister smile with silly faces.

 

“Yes, son?”

 

“Can't we ride to Winterfell? Please?”

 

Gendry smiled at the boy. While he was sure Jon — and Brandon too— missed his mother dearly, he knew the urgency behind the request was mostly because he couldn't stand to see Ella so sad. Himself had been wondering if they should go see Arya. The truth was that before this journey they had become badly accustomed to having her stay home.

 

He laid his hand to rest behind Jon's small neck, giving him a smile. “Let's go see your mother then. Let me settle some affairs today and we can leave tomorrow.”

 

The maester was not exactly fond of being left responsable, particularly since the castellan had shortened his spending on candles. Arya had warned Gendry about the bad blood between those two, but he hoped they could keep it together for a fortnight. Few men accompanied them, since it was not a particularly long journey. The North was safe, and since the King's two sisters lived away from him, he made sure to keep the roads in good state. The Hornwood forest was deep and filled with pines and coal, and Gendry's children had grown up venturing there for hunting and chasing wolves, the journey to Winterfell feeling familiar and secure.

 

They left so early it was still dark, and Gendry kept a sleeping Ella tied to him since she was too young to sit a proper horse yet. Gendry had tasked his men to keep the boys awake so they wouldn't fall asleep and fell off their horses, much to the delight of Brandon who could ask for stories of war and hear bawdy jokes from the men to his heart’s content. Jon kept pushing his horse ahead until Gendry shouted at him to wait, both chastising him from tiring the horse unnecessarily and for forcing one of the guards to chase after him.

 

Jon had his own direwolf, a big hairy beast with brown fur and some splashes of grey, it eyes yellow like its mother’s. He had been born to Nymeria’s last litter nearly six years ago, an ugly and small thing that had been the runt of the litter. Gendry’s son had bonded with it and named it Adal and Jon did not leave the Hornwood grounds without him.

 

Gendry often wondered when would Brandon or Ella get their own. Snow, the first she-wolf born of Nymeria had her pack in the Hornwood woods, and had been there helping her mother through the birth of every pack, as well as being very fond of Arya. But none of the wolves born to her had ever ventured close enough to the castle for one of Gendry’s children to claim it. In fact, as they left the woods behind and stared at the green plains towards Winterfell, Gendry noticed that so far no wolf had ventured near them, which was odd in its own. Arya and the children were fond of the wolves and, until the year past, they’d walk with Nymeria and make sure to keep track of how the population was growing. _Perhaps they too feel neither Arya nor Nymeria are with us._

 

So lost was he in his musings that he did not notice Ella squirming in his hold. “Fader, I’m hunwy.”

 

“We’ll have rabbit in a bit, little one.” Gendry said between chuckles. Ella’s speech was particularly baby-ish early in the mornings, and got better along the day as she heard more people speak. It never failed to bring a smile to his face.

 

“Wabbit.”

 

“Rabbit, love. Hare.”

 

“Hare.”

 

“That’s good.” Gendry leaned down to kiss her hair and turned to the captain of his guards. “Think we can stop to eat, Rory?”

 

“Aye, ser.” Rory, a burly man of rather long grey hair, smiled at a yawning Ella. “We don’t want the little princess to miss her meals.”

 

Rory signed for the horses to stop and to make a fire, ordering the group to settle near the road. Brandon wasted no time in complaining, his small mare coming to a holt next to Gendry’s horse. Jon was dismounting next to his father, extending his arms to receive a still drowsy Ella. The girl clung to Adal’s fur and together they walked to the fire, the wolf curling into a comfortable position that also served as a warm seat for the gir.

 

“If we stop it will take us longer father!”

 

“If we don’t stop we don’t eat, son.” Gendry pointed to the men. “You want to grow as big as Rory? Then you have to eat well.”

 

“I want to be as big as you father!” Brandon beamed, then scratched his chin. “Did you always eat well?”

 

Gendry groaned as he dismounted his horse, uncomfortable and annoyed at how smart his son was. Brandon had grown on tales of the Long Winter and the war, he knew perfectly well both his parents had lived of small rations and limited food for a long time.

 

“Cheeky bastard.” Gendry muttered to himself as Brandon remained stubbornly mounted on his mare, making his father come closer and unceremoniously get him off the damn animal. “Eat your food Brandon, that’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

 

They ate listening to stories, Jon particularly interested in hearing about Hornwood before the arrival of his parents. Brandon did not let the conversation flow so much, and kept an eye on making sure everyone was eating as fast as was possible, despite Gendry’s subtle looks to silently tell him to _stop that_.

 

After eating and while the boys were feeding Adal, Gendry went into the woods so Ella could relieve herself, as he answered her questions of ‘ _why can’t I piss standing up like Jon and Brandon fader?_ ’. He couldn’t remember ever being so curious, but he figured that was just because he couldn’t remember ever having someone close enough to trust with silly questions, things just _were_.

 

Ella picked flowers on the way back to the horses, yellow wildflowers that grew near the trees. Gendry would attempt a flower crown, but while he was dexterous in most manual things, he could not do one. Besides, his daughter had decided she’d gift it to her mother.

 

Wintertown was not at its fullest when they arrive, for Gendry had seen it much bigger and more populated, but there was quite an amount of people around, even though they were arriving at near night time. The gates to the castle were still open, and as he entered he was greeted by a guard he was somewhat familiar with.

 

“My lord! We were not expecting you.”

 

“We did not write ahead.” Gendry had to squint his eyes to look in the semi-light. “Is Harwin—”

 

“I’m here lad, I’m here.” Harwin appeared among the darkness, apparently having decided to finally grow a grey beard. He smiled at Ella as he took the reins of Brandon’s and Jon’s horses, while the guards helped the children dismount. “Oh she’s looking like her mother more and more every day!”

 

“I think Jon is looking like her.” Gendry said as the boy took Ella from his grasp and he clumsily dismounted. Harwin laughed as he shook his head.

 

“You’re still helpless on a horse.” _You don’t grow up riding horses as a poor boy in the city_ , Gendry wanted to say, but kept his mouth shut as he took Ella in his arms. Harwin smiled at the girl as he ordered a stable boy to take the horses, then turning to him to clasp his hand. “How are you lad?”

 

“I’m hardly a lad anymore, Harwin.” Gendry answered. “Everything is as it should.”

 

“Still haven’t gotten this one a pony?”

 

Ella straightened in Gendry’s arms, looking at her father with delight at the words. The horse master laughed and went on his way to the stables.

 

He led the children inside, having taken not two steps into the keep when he heard the noise coming from the Great Hall. They walked down to the opened gates and entered to find the hall filled to half of its capacity. There were singers and musicians, and it was clear the were well beyond the first course and the conversation was lively.

 

Gendry’s eyes immediately went to the high table, where Arya was sipping some wine and listening to Bran. The boys were quick to make their presence known.

 

“Mother!” They cried in unison and began running up toward the table, by now capturing the attention of everyone. Suddenly ashamed of his travel-worn clothes, Gendry clung Ella harder as he walked towards his wife, feeling the ladies judging him.

 

Arya circled the table and knelt to hug her boys, kissing their heads and ordering them to greet their uncle and behave. As Gendry approached, Ella stretched her hands toward her mother. Arya was looking at him with questioning eyes. She seemed troubled, he could tell, but nevertheless smiled to an ecstatic Ella, who kept clutching her flowers and nearly shoving them in her mother's face. Arya took them softly and thanked her, setting her on the ground after a tight hug so the girl could stand clutching her mother’s legs as she so enjoyed.

 

When Gendry finally got close to her, she offered her cheek for him to kiss. He could’ve taken her in a grip so tight it would be improper, but he could read her well enough to know he’d have to do with a quick and chaste kiss on the cheek.

 

“Is everything alright?” she whispered in his ear. Gendry couldn’t bring himself to put too much space between them.

 

“They just missed you.”

 

Arya gently took his hand and guided him to a seat between her own and her brother’s. Gendry shook Bran’s hand before sitting, letting Arya serve him a plate as she put Ella on her lap. The girl could not stop smiling.

 

“You must be hungry.” Arya fussed over him, getting him wine and a cup, while her eyes seemed to look around harshly. “Eat.”

 

“We ate just fine.” Gendry put his hand on her thigh underneath the table. He felt her squirm under his touch and was left befuddled. “Are you alright?”

 

“It’s fine it’s fine.” Arya leaned towards his ear, making him bend down a little towards her. Her voice seemed sweeter when in whisper. “They were discussing Jon and Daenerys, I just want to listen to what they are saying.”

 

He left her to her affairs and he took a good look a her. She didn’t seem to have slept very well, but still she looked as nice as she always did, and he resisted the urge to ran a hand through her hair, which Ella was naughtily unbraiding. Her grey eyes shone brightly with the candlelight, and he knew her well enough to know her smile and demureness was a pretence to _truly listen_ to what the lords and ladies were saying.

 

Gendry smiled to himself. Some things never really changed, and Gendry knew Arya would always be much more shrewd than was good for her. He turned to Bran as the King ate his meal silently.

 

“I don’t see Rickon.”

 

“He thought it best not to be let near such a display of food and wine, less he be tempted to try it.” Bran shook his head sadly. “It has not been easy for him, being bedridden and enduring the stomach pain.”

 

“He was very lucky.”

 

“Indeed he was. He was lucky Spring was following him around and caught him bending over in pain, the wolf was loud enough to get attention and help.” Bran reached down to throw his direwolf a leg of chicken. Gendry never knew Summer, and this one had latched on to Bran not soon after he had been born of Nymeria’s first litter. It was strange how, when hearing the words ‘Bran’s wolf’ Arya thought of a creature absolutely different to the one Gendry thought of. “You came for the trial?”

 

“The children were missing her terribly.”

 

“Oh sure, just the children.” Bran japed lightly, making Gendry wonder if even as a grown man he was still as obvious as he was in his youth. The Gods knew he had endured endless jokes at his expense during the War, courtesy of the Brotherhood being all too aware of his silent pining. “Oh don’t be like that, you think I don’t know how ridiculous I get when Meera is around?”

 

Gendry barked out a short little laugh. It was true. The North had a wise king, much older in mind than what a man like Bran ought to be. But he did look a little foolish every time he gave Meera gifts no King ought to give to an unmarried lady.

 

He suddenly felt a soft hand grasp his own, and turned quickly to his left. “My lady?”

 

“I think the time has come to retire.” She whispered as she looked down at a fast asleep Ella.

 

“The day started too early for her.” Gendry smiled as Arya rose. “I’ll go when I finish. Put those other two on their way to a bed.”

 

Arya grimaced at his words, as if him being left at the table displeased her, but her voice was not harsh.

 

“Don’t wait until it’s too late, or they won’t wake up on the morrow.” Arya said before she departed, saying goodbye to everyone who bid her good night. Gendry’s eyes followed her steps as he stared at her retreating form.

 

“I don’t think you’re very hungry for food.” Bran quipped. “I can take my nephews to bed.”

 

Gendry stayed silent and pretended to eat a few more bites, but in the end just ignored Bran's growing smirk and just got up and left, clasping the hands of a few men along the way.

 

When he arrived to Arya's chambers, he found it empty save for Nymeria curled up next to the fire. Her bright yellow eyes looked at him but she made no movement to come towards him, so Gendry approached her. The she-wolf let him pet her grey fur without fuss, bitch enjoying the warmth of the fireplace. He noticed they had already brought up his belongings and there was more than one chamberpot. Not a long time had passed before Gendry heard Arya enter.

 

She began to untie her shoes as he rose, pointing at Nymeria. “What's gotten into her?”

 

“I dunno, she's been down lately.” Arya grimaced as her boots came off. “Rickon said Shaggy was like that last year before he passed, but I oh Gods I don't want to think about it.”

 

Gendry could not think of Nymeria leaving them. He had seen that she-wolf protect Arya all through the war, and basically repopulate the North with direwolves all by herself. His own children had grown clinging to Nymeria as they took their first steps.

 

“I'm sorry.” He said as he sat on the chest by the bed's feet.

 

“It's not your fault.” Arya shook her head, and then walked to him. She was undoing her braids, and her hair shone in the firelight. It had been a week since he had ran his hand through her hair.

 

He pulled her closer for an urgent kiss, far from the chaste greeting she had given him in the hall. Arya's hands held onto his face until they traveled to his shoulders, holding tightly. Gendry felt himself smile against her lips.

 

“My lady.” He said as he put some distance between them. Arya was breathing heavily and her eyes remained fixated on his mouth.

 

“Shut up.” Arya breathed out before her hands grasped his muscles a bit tighter and pulled him closer. He could sense she was somehow tense but at the same time something told him she was not quite angry _with_ him. Though Arya did have a tendency to fight him by proving how much she had him wrapped around her finger, this did not felt like it.

 

Gendry felt the usual tug of his gut that he felt whenever she pressed herself against him. His hands travelled all the way up to her head and tangled themselves in her brown locks. She was soft and fierce, reminding him too much of the early days of their marriage, back when she'd pull him in any dark corner of Winterfell to prove how content she was to be married.

 

When she pulled away to breathe, Arya held him fiercely. She was puzzling Gendry with her attitude. He kept his hands on her hair as he felt her burrow her head on his chest. By now he could not guess if she was angry or sad, only knowing something was definitely upsetting her.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“I just don't want to get carried away. We never know if someone may demand to speak with me. That tends to happen when there's so many around...”

 

“Why are there so many people?”

 

“News of Lady Dustin's betrayal travelled fast. Everyone wanted to witness the trial.” She answered irritated. “I wouldn't think me beheading an assassin and his employer would be a thing of entertainment."

 

“You want me to take the children away?” Gendry asked quietly, worried he had somehow overstepped.

 

“No. In fact I think it's time Jon learns to face this things. One day he will have to swing the sword.”  Arya put some space between them, looking at the floor and biting her lip. Gendry hand flew up to her chin, tilting it upwards so he could see those deep grey eyes. Her voice got impossibly low. “The last woman I killed was…”

 

Gendry didn't need to be reminded. He had held Arya after too many nightmares involving Lady Stoneheart. He took her hands and guided her to the bed, he sat on it and made her stand between his legs.

 

“Does Bran think she should be executed?”

 

“Well he's not thrilled about the attempt on Rickon. He understands lady Dustin felt slighted over the broken promise but it was never an official betrothal anyways. Overall I think he's just sad about the whole affair.” Arya huffed. “But in the end he leaves the sentencing to me, since I'd have to actually carry the thing through.”

 

Gendry began drawing a pattern on her hands with his thumb as she complained about lady Dustin's folly. He knew well enough when she just needed a silent wall to vent off her frustrations, so he distracted himself by looking her up and down. She was wearing a rough and comfy-looking green wool dress. A belt carried her dirk and a set of keys. Gendry smiled at the sight of her hips and clean hands.

 

When Gendry thought of Arya in Winterfell, he thought of their youth. Arya still impossibly thin and slightly scrappy, her wild hair barely tamed with a loose braid, her face clinging to the roundness of childhood. Age had turned his wolf girl of a wife into an attractive woman.  Her long face was thin and beautiful, and her hips had rounded after three babes, her hair now neatly kept back by two strands of hair.

 

_Have I changed too? Have I grown into an old man as well?_

 

“... and I think both Kastark and Glover will be a little too eager to dare us to kill her, they still think us weak for letting Walda Bolton live.” Arya rolled her eyes. “As if killing women was a sign of bravery.”

 

“What would Jon do?” Gendry asked her, knowing this was probably what would ease her the most.

 

“I'm not sure. I'm not certain what would father do.” Arya bit her lip and stared at him. “What would you do?”

 

Gendry closed his eyes and breathed in. This was why he had never regretted giving up his claims to anything being a Baratheon would've given him. Being a lord, be it of a small land or of an entire kingdom was so much responsibility. Gendry tried so hard with the lands they were given already, he couldn't fathom having to carry the weight his good brothers had on their shoulders. He felt much better choosing to follow great leaders than attempting to be one and then be judged by his mistakes.

 

“You know me, I would be stubborn and do the opposite of what they told me I should do…” He distracted himself by tracing Arya's jawline, liking how her eyelids fluttered at his touch. “Then again, she hired someone to hurt my good brother.”

 

Gendry had never actually felt such a deep desire to hurt a woman, but by the Red God lady Dustin had achieved that. The only miracle that had saved Rickon from further damage was the fact that Spring had caught the assassin and help was given soon to Rickon. If it weren't for the wolf…

 

“I'm tired.” He admitted. “We all woke up early to come here fast.”

 

Arya frowned. “That's because you took the road. I keep telling you to just cut through the woods, you've arrived before the feast.”

 

Gendry huffed. “Arya,” he began, “that makes no sense, everyone knows the point of a road is to make travelling faster.”

 

“Everyone's stupid then because I go through the woods and get here much faster.”

 

“Not everyone can stand the discomfort of the woods with their arse on top of a horse.”

 

“Well my children and the Northmen can stand it.” Arya turned away to be rid of her belt and look for her shift. Gendry took the opportunity to go look for his clothes and undress himself.

 

“Maybe I should've just sent them with some guards then.” Arya muttered something, but when he turned she was just opening the bed to climb in. “You didn't want me to come?”

 

“No it's…” Arya looked away as he got closer to the bed. “It's not quite _that_.”

 

“What is it then?”

 

“It's sss…” Arya messed around with the furs and avoided looking at him, her words unintelligible.

 

“Come again?”

 

“I said it's stupid!” She exclaimed still not looking at him, looking down at the bed and playing with the hair that had fallen like a curtain in front of her face.

 

“What is it?” He sat on the bed, and hi hand reached up to put her strands of hair behind her ear. “Arya what is it?”

 

“You should hear the way these ladies talk about you!” Arya's hand became fists as she punched the bed, her angry eyes finally finding his. “Like you're some knight out of the maiden's fantasies.”

 

“What?” Gendry could not stop the laughter that came out of his mouth.

 

“Stop that!”

 

“You don't want me here because the women are bothering you?” Gendry shook his head. All this time he thought she was upset and irritable because he had done something wrong.

 

“Not the women, the _ladies_ that look at you as if you has stepped out of some singer's song.” Arya clarified as he kissed her cheeks, all tense even as he nuzzled her neck and tried to kiss under her jawline. “But the women are worse they keep telling me that if they had a ‘husband that looked like that’ they wouldn't leave him alone back home.”

 

“Is that right?” His lips curved up as he attempted a trail of kisses from her jaw to her collarbone.

 

“Stop smiling!”

 

Gendry put a small space between them and took her hands. “And what would you have me do?” His thumbs caressed the skin of her hands, so soft and small inside his own. “Mhhm?” I thought you'd be happy to see us.”

 

“I'm happy to see you. And to be with you.” Arya shrugged as moved so he could sit as close to her as possible, his arm coming around her shoulders. “It's just that these talks annoy me, it's better back home.”

 

Gendry smiled when he heard her refer to Hornwood as such, especially considering they were in Winterfell. He squeezed her shoulders. “So you'd keep me locked inside? I wouldn't like that one bit. I didn't marry Baelor the Blessed.”

 

Arya suddenly turned climbed on top of his lap and sat on his legs, straddling him and bending to his ear. Gendry let a hand go to her back. “Oh… so you want to be out parading yourself for the women. Hmm… would you look at that.”

 

Gendry laughed at the feigned tone of irritation in her voice. “Would you be so displeased? You would crown me in front of the offensive women?”

 

“Oh no. Fits of jealousy are for others but not me.” Arya's hands travelled to his shoulders and squeezed them hard as she carried on kissing the side of his face. Gendry tried hard to concentrate on what to say.

 

“And would my lady do if she was displeased with the attention I get?”

 

Arya shrugged and ran her hands to his arms, pushing herself closer and looking at him with a smug grin. “I can always run off to Dorne with some fair and purple-eyed lord, it runs in the family after all.”

 

Gendry felt the irritation he always felt whenever he was reminded if Dayne's existence. Always so proper and chivalrous, the lord of Starfall had always been too close for his liking during the war. In a swift motion Gendry grabbed Arya from the calves and twisted them so she was the one half underneath him.

 

“Now you're just asking to be punished.”

 

Arya let out a squeal and turned herself before he could pin her down, receiving him with open legs and looking at him with a flashing grin. When he leaned down to kiss her she kissed him back contently.

 

His hands travelled up to her scalp, feeling that hair of hers get tangled in his fingers as his tongue pushed past her lips, his gentleness lost once he felt the heat between her legs. Arya however seemed to have a different rhythm in mind, and her passion was milder than usual, as if she wanted to be cherished more than she wanted to do much of anything else.

 

Gendry set a trail of kisses from behind her ear, down her neck to her collarbone. But while her fingers remained softly managing his scalp, he noticed she seemed to squirm uncomfortably underneath him. He stopped what he was doing and put a little distance between them.

 

“Is everything alright? Do you want me to stop?”

 

Arya bit her lip before answering. “I don't want you to stop, I just feel strange when it's not _our_ bed, you know?”

 

Gendry cleared the hair out of her face. He was always a bit fascinated by how young she looked with her hair wild and dressed just in her shift. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Of course.”

 

He breathed deeply, swallowing his disappointment and knowing it was only a matter of time before he could get what he wanted. Gendry could not complaint, his wife was content to give herself to him as often as he wished for her to have him, and being rejected was unusual unless something was truly wrong.

 

Arya let him kiss her to his content, stroking his arms in a manner so lovely he was almost amused at what her fixation with his arms were. He did not know how long they stayed there just enjoying the sweet homecoming feeling of lying together. It was strange how easily one could get used to live in sync with someone else. For the last years of his life, Gendry woke when she woke, and slept after her eyes were closed, ate when she ate and got sick when she got sick.

 

Gendry felt her chest rise and fall underneath him and sighed contently as she held onto him firmly and kissed him deeply. He knew her well enough to know this was her way of saying she was ready to sleep, so he gave her some space to accommodate herself and curled himself around her. The long ride to Winterfell finally taking its toll on him.

 

“Thank you for coming,” Arya muttered as sleep overtook them both. “I missed you terribly.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was a one shot but it was turning long so I decided to split it into two. Also I got some ideas that if included may extent the lenght up to three chapters but that's about it. Sorry you didn't get the sexytmes in this one but I promise not to make you wait long :P
> 
> The whole idea of Ella talking was a trial for me, my only experience with little babies who speak English was my cousins little boy, who at age 3 still had trouble with his "th's" and his "r's". If anyone here is an expert on writing english baby talk give me tips lol.
> 
> Anyways, to tease you up on what's next: Arya helps her man shave, Gendry teaches Brandon a few things in the Winterfell forge, the trial of Lady Dustin begins, Jon learns a few things about warging from his uncle Bran and Rickon makes his appearence.
> 
> Reviews are love and encouragement!


End file.
